


Protection

by Estrella3791



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Don't read if those bother you, Enjoy it though, F/M, Fluffy, I don't even know what this is honestly, I say 'that' like there aren't a million of them, Inspired by that gif of Bucky angrily walking, It's awesome, Just all the avengers live together happily, Kidnapping, Movie Night, Oh yes this is completely ignoring Infinity War, Reader is live-in psychiatrist, That's super cool to me, The Avengers definitely need one, Torture, Who knows which one it was, angstish, gone wrong, i don't even know what this is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-08 08:49:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15926969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Estrella3791/pseuds/Estrella3791
Summary: Reader gets kidnapped. Bucky gets stressed. Feelings ensue.





	Protection

**Author's Note:**

> All right, my friends. I'm going to be honest:  
> This is not good. I don't feel proud of it, it has next to no plot or development, I don't even know what happened. But I've been so busy and not been writing, and it feels so good to finally finish something again that I decided to post this anyway. I know that it's not fantastic, but I hope that you can enjoy it anyway.

You know that your life isn't exactly normal; being the live-in psychiatrist for the Avengers isn't a particularly common profession.

It just didn’t really sink in exactly how strange your life has become until you got kidnapped by some weird psychos that have a vendetta against Tony Stark.

It happens like this:

The entire team is lounging in the common room, gathered together for the (mandatory) weekly movie night. (This mandatory weekly movie night was instigated by you, after you realized that, despite being a team that spent a lot of time training and fighting together, the Avengers had very thin and unstable relationships. A regular bonding time was obviously in order, and you’ve been told by multiple members during your private counseling sessions that it’s worked wonders for the team. It’s nice to know that you’re being a success.)

“I want to watch Jason Bourne!” Clint whines. (Clint isn’t often around for weekly movie nights, since he has a family and is actually one of the most well balanced and mentally healthy Avengers, but when he is he likes being disagreeable and making it ten times harder for the team to decide on which film to watch.) 

“But Star Wars is so much better!” Tony protests. 

“I kind of want to watch something Disney,” Sam puts in helpfully.

“Star Wars is Disney,” Tony says, seizing his chance. 

You know, from extensive experience, that it will take a while to come to an agreement, so in the meantime you surreptitiously glance over at one James Buchanan Barnes. Because you’re his psychiatrist and you want to see how he’s doing. For professional reasons. Obviously.

He looks amused and a little exasperated - pretty much how everyone is looking right now. There’s not any alarm or concern in Bucky’s face, so there’s no real reason for you to go talk to him, but you do anyway. 

“Hey,” you greet him, and he looks up and smiles. It always makes your heart flip when he smiles at you, for reasons that have nothing to do with infatuation and attraction. Nothing at all. “Is there any room for me?” 

He’s the lone occupant of a fairly large sofa, but you don’t want him to feel like you’re invading his space. It would be very counterproductive when your entire job is to make him and all his teammates feel safe. 

“Of course!” he says, scooching over a little bit.

“Thanks,” you say, giving him a smile of your own. If you weren’t so busy not being obvious about how ridiculously smitten you are, you’d see that Bucky himself has a blush decorating his face, and Steve is giving him a subtle thumbs up. As it happens, you are busy not being obvious, so you don’t notice. “What’s your vote for the movie?”

“I like Star Wars,” he says, sounding almost apologetic, and you hate how insecure he is. To be sure, he’s gotten much better since Wakanda and the removal of the trigger words, but he still has bad days, just like any normal human - except his are much worse than average, giving how much more horrible his experiences have been.

Knowing that everyone has a positive attitude about the space trilogy, you raise your voice and shout, “Who’s in favour of Star Wars?”

Half a dozen ‘me’s’ far outweigh Clint’s ‘nooo,’ so Tony triumphantly hollers for FRIDAY to start A New Hope. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” Bucky whispers in your ear, and the feeling of his breath is so distracting that you just barely manage to shoot him a grin and assure him that it wasn’t a problem.

The movie is great, but you’ve seen it countless times, and find studying the man on your left much more interesting. From a professional viewpoint, of course.

He’s relaxed and alert at the same time, invested in the movie but enjoying the calm atmosphere. His shoulders aren’t even tense, which is a fairly recent milestone. Bucky hates fighting, but feels like he owes it to the world to protect them as much as he can. It breaks your heart but makes you love him even more.

Did you say ‘love’? You meant ‘like.’ Platonically. You’re not in love with Bucky. Pfft. Not at all. 

Anyway, time goes on and Luke does his thing and you start feeling antsy. Deciding that some fresh air is in order, you try to slide off the couch as surreptitiously as possible.

“Where are you going?” Bucky asks you in a whisper.

Turns out it’s not possible for you to be very surreptitious.

“Outside,” you say, offering a smile. “It’s a little warm in here.”

“I’ll come,” he says, jumping to his feet. 

Deciding to refrain from mentioning the fact that part of the warmness is due to him and his stupidly impressive muscles, you let him come along.

It’s not like you’d really ever turn down a chance to hang out with Bucky. 

You breathe a sigh of relief when you get down to ground level. The air seems clearer and more breathable down here.

You love the Compound. The yard/landscape/small forest is absolutely beautiful, manicured and maintained by professionals. You love how green and fresh everything is. 

Glancing over at Bucky, you see him admiring the scenery, too. You happen to know, from the weekly counseling sessions that are mandatory, that he finds it easier to breathe here than in the city. He likes green and growing things, and he likes running along the boardwalk and taking in the view.

You also know that he remembers loving the city more than anything, and that he wishes desperately that he could go back to being that city boy. 

But he’s not the same person anymore, and he’s slowly learning to accept it. 

You’re so busy admiring his face and musing on his tragic backstory that you don’t notice the rustling in the bushes, but he does, and snaps to attention.

You jump, because you were so focused. 

“Sorry,” he says. “Stay here for a minute, okay? I need to go check something.”

You nod and step back to let him walk past you, even though he could have just as easily sidestepped you. 

And while he’s advancing towards the bushes, a hand comes out of nowhere and clamps over your mouth, stifling your screams. You thrash around, trying to break free, until whoever it is jabs a syringe in your arm and everything goes blurry. 

 

***

You’re pretty sure that you don’t pass out; you just get really confused and dizzy and don’t know what’s going on and can’t really remember how to blink properly, let alone struggle. 

You know that you get thrown carelessly into the backseat of a car, and that whoever your captor is has a sidekick. You just have no idea where they’re taking you or what they’re trying to do, despite the fact that they jabber constantly. In your hazy state, it’s kind of hard to process what they’re saying. 

 

When you ‘come to’, which you use quotation marks around because you’re not sure that you were ever truly out in the first place, you’re strapped to a chair in some warehouse somewhere.

What appallingly uncreative bad guys. 

Unfortunately, they are also classicly uncreative bad guys, which means that as soon as they realize you’re awake they start beating you up, interspersed with questions as to the recent workings of one Anthony Stark. 

You may or may not have thought about this happening before. It’s kind of an occupational hazard, and you were more or less prepared for the fact that this might happen.

You were less prepared for how much it was going to hurt.

You’ve seen footage of real life tortures before, but apparently they were all people with no nerve endings, because it feels like you’re dying and you just want it to stop. Having your skin sliced open really freaking hurts. 

“What is the new machine that Tony Stark is working on?” the de facto leader demands, and you wish you could talk, really you do, just to say anything, but you can’t. Your mouth is dry and your throat is raw and you can’t stop crying and you just want to go home.

Of course, that doesn’t happen. Said de facto leader backhands you across the face and leans in with a sneer instead.

“We know that you know,” he says menacingly, “and if you don’t tell us…” 

He trails off and lets the blade in his hand speak for him, and you cry harder because this sucks so much more than any situation you’ve ever been in, and then all of a sudden he’s not carving patterns into your skin anymore.

You’re pretty out of it, but you can see Bucky beating every one of the thugs up with so much fury and anger in his form that it would scare you if he wasn’t using said fury and anger to protect you. Your vision is fuzzy and your head is swirling, but you’re sure that right before you pass out, gentle hands reach out to cup your face - one human and one metal.

 

When you wake up, your head is pounding and everything hurts. They’re different hurts - some parts sting and some parts burn and some parts ache and some parts are just vaguely sore - but they’re all very real and very intense and you can’t help groaning, even though youhaven’t even tried moving yet. Just existing hurts a lot.

“Y/N?” 

Your vision is a little blurry - one of your eyes is swollen shut - but you still get a thrill to see that it’s Bucky, sitting next to your bed with furrowed brows and worried eyes.

“Hey,” you croak, because you’re not smooth. 

He slumps a little bit, his HYDRA ramrod-straight posture falling away. He looks so relieved.

“You scared us, honey,” he says gently, taking your hand in one of his.

The pain meds are making your mind fuzzy. You stare at his hand holding yours, and he snatches it away like he’s burned you. Too late, you realize that it was the vibranium arm, and he thinks you were horrified by the fact that he’d touch you with it. 

“Nonono,” you slur, “I like it.”

He looks both confused and concerned. 

“Maybe you should keep resting,” he says. “You don’t seem - “

“I like your hand,” you blurt, cursing whatever medication is going to your brain and taking away all filters. “I like how it feels. And I like you.”

He looks slightly shellshocked, and you force yourself to focus.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have - I’m sorry - “

“No,” he says, interrupting you. “I just… Do you know how terrifying it was not to know where you were? Do you know how hard it was to keep on living when I didn’t know if you were? Do you know how much it hurts me to see you hurting?” 

“No,” you say, because you seriously have no filters. “How much does it hurt?”

“A lot,” he says. “A lot more than anything else has ever hurt in my life. I don’t just like you, hon, I love you, and if you don’t… But never mind. I can’t expect you to - “

“You can, though,” you interrupt him. “You can. Because I do. I will. I love you, lots, and I just…”

“But I don’t want to see this again,” he says, and his voice cracks. “I can’t do it. And I’m so hunted, and so messed up - you’re so beautiful, and kind, and you’d be so wasted on me.”

“We’re going to have lots of sessions to fix that thinking,” you say, “but for now I’m too tired, and I’m just going to tell you that you’re perfect and I love you just the way you are and I want you to stop talking like that and start holding my hand again.”

“Okay,” he says, and a timid smile creeps onto his face. He takes your hand in his, gentle fingers stroking your palm, and smiles wider. It’s so calming, and this was so much emotional action when you were mega exhausted already, and your eyes start to drift closed. 

Soft lips press to your forehead, and you slip into sleep feeling safe and loved. You’re fully aware that there’s danger involved in dating Bucky, and you’re also fully prepared to accept that. He’ll protect you.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!!! Much love! <3


End file.
